All's Well That Ends Well
by Microwave Jockey
Summary: My own musings on the end sequences for T4. Note slight romantic attractions and possibly some bad language in the later stages. 5th Chapter is now up!
1. 1: Yoshi and Lee

Tekken Fiction - All's Well That Ends Well  
  
Author's Note: This is a truly terrible idea. But I'm bored, so I figured I should write something. These are my own little insights into what really happens during the T4 end sequences. I'll start with a few that I like, then go on and do the rest, okay? Right, here we go. ****************************  
  
Number 1: Yoshimitsu  
  
The Mishima compound was not quite as brilliantly laid out as some are led to believe; it took only ten minutes of planning before the Manji brotherhood had concocted an efficient plan. Precisely one minute and thirty-three seconds later, Yoshimitsu was walking down one of the halls of the enormous pagoda-like building, acknowledging the expensive but undoubtedly fake artefacts lining the walls and paying close attention to the number and expertise of the guards. Within moments, he was once again face-to-face with the man he, and virtually all the other competitors in that accursed tournament, had grown to hate - Heihachi Mishima. The old man was scowling, and Yoshimitsu's feelings lifted a little at the thought that he was responsible for the demon's anger. And quite a chunk of his pain, too.  
  
"You may have won the latest tournament, 'Warrior With A Cause'," he spoke the name like it was tinged with venom, "but I will never hand over the Mishima Zaibatsu - my Zaibatsu - to your pathetic little Manji Party!"  
  
As he said this, the dozen or so bodyguards present in the room all drew nine-millimetres and aimed straight for Yoshi's chest. The alien ninja was unfazed, and continued to stare straight into the aging face of Mishima.  
  
"You Manji are nothing more than a group of con artists, inciting the masses with your false promises and getting in the way of my ascent to power!" there was a mad gleam in Heihachi's eyes.  
  
Yoshimitsu took a deep breath, switching to the echoing metallic voice he used for intimidation purposes. "Those who tread the path of evil shall face their judgment eventually."  
  
Heihachi remained silent for a moment, then burst into a laugh that was somewhere between a cackle and a cough. That's right, thought Yoshimitsu, laugh it up while you can. As if sensing his thoughts, an explosion went off in the rear of the building, muffled slightly by the walls. A panicked voice came over the intercom.  
  
"Sir, there has been an explosion in the - it's the Manji, sir! They're lifting the entire vault away in a helicopter!"  
  
Heihachi looked quite surprised. Delightful. "What?!"  
  
Realisation dawned as he turned to face Yoshimitsu, who was looking down, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.  
  
"You.SHOOT HIM!"  
  
The guards opened up with their pistols, but Yoshimitsu was ready for them. Quick as a flash he ducked down, removed a black sphere from his belt and slammed it to the ground. The resulting flare and sonic wave disoriented the guards for long enough, allowing Yoshi to leap up and switch on his new dragonfly wings, buzzing straight through the skylight. As he left, he was sure he heard the old man yelling "Damn you!", still standing there, dumbstruck. He smiled at that, but not for long; his wings were rapidly losing fuel. Any more drainage and they'd start to use his own life force as energy. Looking down, Yoshi noticed a large penthouse with a swimming pool in the back garden. He'd never really been too fond of water, but sacrifices must be made. Deactivating his wings, he narrowed himself into a nosedive and flew downwards for three seconds before crashing straight into the pool, soaking the VIP clientele and almost blacking out from the g- forces. Thankfully he managed to clamber to the side of the pool as the guests swarmed around him.  
  
"Are you alright, dude?"  
  
Yoshi couldn't seem to focus his vision on anything, but still found it within himself to speak.  
  
"Urrrggghhh.Can anyone lend me some cash to get the bus home?"  
  
Two years later, the Manji Party was voted into the top government positions all across Asia, Europe and America, striving to help the countries who need it, those who have never committed any crime other than bad luck. The word 'honour had gained new meaning', and Yoshimitsu, after spreading goodwill across the globe and taking his place in the annals of history alongside Abraham Lincoln and Nelson Mandela, was never seen again. +-+-+-+  
  
Number 2 - Lee Chaolan  
  
The top floor of the Mishima Zaibatsu headquarters building had a great view to it, looking out over the night-time Tokyo skyline. Of course, Lee reflected, he wouldn't be looking at it for much longer - he'd already decided to decentralise the business to remove bottlenecks - but it truly was quite magical.  
  
Dropping the used butt of one of his infamous cigarettes, Lee pressed a button on the intercom linkup he brought with him to the roof and spoke into the miniature microphone.  
  
"Helen, have those new Pentium processors arrived for the next Combot model?"  
  
His secretary replied, the sound of her keyboard clicking away in the background. "No Mr. Lee, apparently the suppliers have had their hands full with some police business. They had apparently killed off a rival company's entire board of directors and then merged that company's resources with their own."  
  
Lee grimaced. Though the tournaments may have ended, in some ways the business arena could be even more dangerous than his adoptive brother on a bad day. And that's pretty darn brutal.  
  
His secretary could sense her boss' hesitation. "Do you wish for me to find a new vendor, sir?"  
  
"No darling, don't go worrying yourself over something like that."  
  
"As you command, Mr. - huh?"  
  
That sound jerked Lee out of his brief reverie. Secretaries never say 'huh?'  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
A faint thumping could be heard, as if someone was hitting a computer monitor. "No problems here, sir."  
  
Lee frowned. "There was obviously a problem, otherwise you wouldn't have broken off mid-sentence. What was it?"  
  
A pause. "Just a problem with the screen. I thought I saw something move, but it's gone now sir. Must have been my imagination."  
  
"Alright. I'm coming down now, all this fresh air is distracting me."  
  
This was partly true: the wind was picking up and preventing Lee from lighting another cigarette. After his brief elevator ride, he noticed that his secretary was not at her desk. Toilet break, he thought.  
  
But the he entered his office and noticed.the door was unlocked. He only realised that because he usually locked it, then forgot about it and walked right into the door, thinking it would open. Plus, his chair was facing the window, yet when he had left it, it was facing the door. There was something else too.Lee sniffed the air, and amid the stench of old tobacco, he noticed a particular scent, one which was quite familiar to him. Putting on his best lopsided smile, he quickly strutted over to the chair, put one hand on the top corner of it and spun it around, his eyes quickly falling on neat, platinum-blonde hair arranged into a single tail.  
  
Lee sighed. "I must be getting too old for all this.How could it have been anyone other than you, Miss Williams?"  
  
Nina looked up innocently, one leg hooked over the other and arms folded across her chest, possibly to stop him staring. "Well, I didn't really try to be discreet this time, darling."  
  
"Oh God, how long were you listening to all that?"  
  
"About half an hour."  
  
"I'll have to put up some laser wires to stop you next time."  
  
"Ooh, a challenge! I look forward to it!"  
  
Lee shook his head and leant in as he had so many times before, and kissed Nina for several long seconds before lifting her out of the chair and onto the desk.  
  
*********  
  
Author's Note: Okay, we'll leave them to it.and that's all for this chapter folks! Next time I'll be doing the endings for Nina herself and.erm, Combot. Because I feel like it. Okay?! See ya then. 


	2. 2: Nina and Combot

Author's Note: Well, it's update time friends and neighbours! As promised, I'll be giving Nina and Combot's endings a spot of the ol' spit- and-shine in this chapter. And a shout-out to my first two reviewers.  
  
The Brothers Mishima: Thanks for the compliments. And yes, despite Namco's efforts to claim the contrary, Lee at least looks homosexual. But personally, I think him and Nina make a nice couple. Not that I'll be delving any further into that relationship in this fic.  
  
Spifferfish: Love the name, dude. And thanks, it's nice to know I'm keeping this site alive.  
  
And ho-ho-ho, on with the show!  
  
*******  
  
Ending Number 3.0: Nina Williams  
  
The people of Hong Kong were used to odd sites. Being as close to Japan as it was, it was home to many an anime convention or giant robot/dinosaur parade; and the British's influence had left a mark, in the shape of more Western fast-food joints and lager brands than the average citizen could shake a child's toy lightsaber at. Heck, most people wouldn't even blink if Godzilla came to town. So it wasn't much of a surprise that nobody paid much attention to the miniature chase developing in the uptown district where all the big corporation's HQs were located.  
  
Nina ran as fast as she possibly could, keeping her eyes in front of her. Her head throbbed with the weight of new information, and there was the small matter of the deranged detective scampering along behind her. She was sure she'd seen him before, but it may just have been a memory of watching Rush Hour 2.  
  
An elderly lady turned the corner in front of her, pushing a small child's pram. Nina leapt clean over it and kicked out behind her, sending the pram and child tumbling to the ground. If she'd had a few seconds to spare, Nina might have considered making an apology.  
  
Well, maybe.  
  
The diversion worked; her pursuer, being a 'good guy', couldn't resist lending a hand, and only gave up when the crazed old bat started beating him over the head with her Audrey Hepburn-decorated handbag. By then it was too late, as Nina had already sprinted down one of the city's innumerable back-alleys. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, the dim-witted oaf sped past Nina's hiding spot, and once his rapid footsteps had diminished to sub-audible levels, Nina slumped back against a wall and slid down to the ground. Today had been one helluva rough morning.  
  
~Flashback to the night before~  
  
As the sun dimmed in the sky and the city suddenly came alive with neon lights and bustling partygoers, a lone Mercedes pulled up in front of one of the cheaper hotels in this part of the city. The faded red brickwork and unwashed windows contrasted sharply with the metallic silver bodywork and sleek alloys on the car.  
  
A lone figure stepped out from the driver's side; tall, thin, obviously feminine with platinum-blonde hair pulled back into a single short ponytail, dark eyes hidden behind pink sunglasses. She wore a fairly large coat, which completely covered her outfit, except for the knee-length white boots with stiletto heels.  
  
Nina leaned down to the driver's window. "Now, I'd really appreciate it if you brought this back in one piece."  
  
Another person, another woman, replied from inside. "Hey, do I look like an idiot?"  
  
Nina smiled. "You don't really want me to answer that, surely?"  
  
"Oh, shut up!" the other woman's voice was tinged with humour. "I'm just going to be taking a tour around the clubs."  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of. Don't have too much fun without me."  
  
"I'll try. See ya tomorrow!"  
  
The car drove off in the direction of the lights. Nina watched it go for a few seconds before moving inside the building in front of her. The lobby was jus about as ugly as the exterior, and came complete with the obligatory balding receptionist in his mid-sixties. Nina sauntered over to the desk, watching her step all the way.  
  
"Hi," she said in fluent Cantonese, though she couldn't shake her normal accent, "Do you have any vacancies for one?"  
  
~Later that night~  
  
Having done what little unpacking was required, Nina opened her laptop and hooked up to the room's phone line with a portable modem. Her current employers had left a file on the new target at one of her many e-mail addresses. Checking her 'favourites' list, she found the correct URL and clicked 'Log In'  
  
Username: 'FoxXxYChic32' Password: 'Bad_Habit'  
  
Indeed, there was the file, disguised under the name of 'Get a better life insurance deal.' and sent from "TenchiGuy101". Either a random name, or that of a newly-departed techno geek who met with an unfortunate accident for the convenience of her employers. The file opened automatically with the e-mail (which was blank) and popped up in a new window. A full-body image of the target appeared, complete with spiked blonde hair and odd scar on the left arm. This picture came from the target's sporting days, hence the ridiculous union jack shorts. If it hadn't been related to business, Nina would have laughed.  
  
The file contained virtually every detail of the target's entire life; Nina hoped she might find one of these about herself one day. It would certainly clear up a few details.  
  
"Name: Steve Fox. Age: 21. Nationality: British."  
  
I never would have guessed, thought Nina dryly.  
  
"Currently adopted. Adoptive parents located in England, name and exact whereabouts are unconfirmed."  
  
Well, at least they don't know everything, Nina thought, not that it was much of a relief. When this was over, she'd have to start picking her clients better.  
  
"Birth father: N/A. Birth Mother: Name unknown. Mother was a subject in a cryogenic stasis experiment."  
  
Nina's eyes widened.  
  
".At the Mishima Zaibatsu Research Laboratories."  
  
If Nina hadn't known better she would have sworn that lightning struck outside the room's window just as she finished reading that sentence. She sat in silence for a long time, before hesitantly reaching for her mobile phone and going for speed-dial one.  
  
There were a few seconds of silence as the ringing tone played out through the receiver, before there was a soft click and a voice came down the line, muffled music and cheering in the background.  
  
"I thought you said we weren't supposed to contact one another."  
  
Nina sighed. "I know, I know, but this is important."  
  
"How important? I'm in the middle of a game here."  
  
"Very. You know that little job I've got going for tomorrow?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"There's been a development."  
  
Nina repeated the information from the file down the phone. The person on the other end sounded as if she was trying not to laugh.  
  
"You-you've got to be kidding!"  
  
"No. What am I gonna do now?"  
  
"Why are you asking me? I've never been in that situation."  
  
"Oh, I doubt that."  
  
"HEY! You'd better take that back, or I'll come over there and."  
  
".Get your pretty face kicked in?"  
  
The other woman was silent for a moment, then sighed. "I hate it when you're right."  
  
Nina chuckled slightly. Trust the ones closest to you to cheer you up, if nothing else.  
  
~Back to the present~  
  
Nina started awake, shaking her head. How long had she been out for? For all she knew, she could have woken up in a cop car, or even down at the station itself.  
  
Sloppy, girl, her mind whispered, you're getting too complacent.  
  
"Oh, shut up." Nina mumbled out loud, before looking out at the street. Although she remembered seeing the cop stumble away, he could have called in backup and had the street staked out by now. Judging by her watch, she had been dreaming for three-quarters of an hour. Thankfully, no police cars or cops were in sight. Neither was the target. A silver Merc had pulled up at one side of the street, drawing no attention from the crowds and other drivers. Moving swiftly, yet without making too much noise, Nina emerged from her hiding spot and crossed the road, opening one of the car's passenger doors and sliding in, closing it behind her.  
  
The driver turned around. "Good lord, what is that stink?"  
  
Nina sniffed the air, before recoiling and waving a hand in front of her face. "Aww Christ.when did alleys become so dirty? First chance I get, I'm taking a shower."  
  
The driver returned her attention to the road, firing up the engine as she did so. "Now you're starting to sound like me. You're supposed to be the tough one, remember?"  
  
Nina nodded. "True enough, sis, but I'm not totally brain-dead yet. Give it a couple of years. Oh, and Anna."  
  
The driver turned around again, raising one well-pencilled eyebrow up to the brim of her zebra-design furry hat.  
  
"Thanks. Really." Nina stuck out her hand.  
  
Anna smirked. "I am not falling for that again."  
  
*******  
  
Ending Number 4.0: Combot  
  
Some say that heroes are born, not made. If the capacity crowd in the national stadium, once used solely for baseball but now hosting the final of the King of Iron Fist Tournament 4, they couldn't be more wrong.  
  
While the first participant for the night's main event, the tournament's 'reigning champion' Heihachi Mishima, waited in the ring, going through several warm-up exercises and being booed by the crowd, an oddly- proportioned figure was backstage, skipping and shadowboxing under the watchful eye of a silver-haired man in a purple-tinged suit. There were no words between the two, but the business man seemed to radiate a sense of pride toward the other, whose only sounds were that of straining servomotors and humming batteries.  
  
A tournament official approached. "It's time."  
  
The door in front of Combot opened, and he strode out in front of the crowd, adopting the same purposeful walk as the fighter with the peculiar eye and spiked hair. The fans in the crowd who had been following the tournament from the beginning, and the eliminated fighters, some of which Combot had himself previously defeated, knew what to expect and were not disappointed; those who had only just arrived or tuned in for the final were in for a surprise.  
  
The warrior who came to face Heihachi was not a massively muscled figure of power; not a Bruce Lee-alike being of superior grace and intelligence; instead, what emerged from the lit tunnel was, for all intents and purposes, a rather daft-looking robot. Some in the crowd laughed; most cheered; ladies blew wolf-whistles; and the eliminated fighters simply clapped.  
  
Combot could feel the energy in the arena. He knew that his sole objective tonight was to defeat the aging target with the spiked grey hair and odd sense in clothing, but the volume of the crowd chanting his identification noun over and over made him rethink his battle plan. He needed to make it look good for those who were watching.  
  
And so he stood stock-still, flipping mentally through many files in his mind. He had been unable to previously study the technique of his opponents, but Master Lee had added some information to his files regarding the target. It seemed that 'Heiahchi' used a similar technique as the subject identified as 'Kazuya', which meant that he implemented many powerful yet simple combo attacks and devastating single-hit attacks. This technique did not include many specialised forms of defence other than the standard blocking movements, so Combot decided that using a technique with greater speed would provide the best possibility of success. Having considered this, Combot selected the recorded technique file of combatant number 008, identified as 'Marshall Law'. Immediately, his motors kicked in and Combot began an odd skipping movement on the spot.  
  
All of this happened in less than a second.  
  
Another official off at the side glanced at both combatants, threw a handful of salt between them, and spoke into a microphone.  
  
"Round One."  
  
Heihachi tensed.  
  
".FIGHT!"  
  
Heihachi charged immediately. This came as no surprise to Combot, who had noted the anger etched on the face of his opponent and the similar rage possessed by subject 'Kazuya'. Naturally, this allowed Combot the possibility of a counter, which he delivered in the form of a swift kick to his opponent's chin, catching the elder Mishima off-balance and toppling him. Combot briefly considered pressing the attack on the grounded opponent, but his advanced A.L.U rejected the idea; the target was still comparatively strong.  
  
Quicker than Combot expected for a man of his age, Heihachi sprung to his feet, attempting to sweep-kick Combot's legs out from under him. Combot hopped over the recovery strike and used his right arm to hook-punch the target in the side of the jaw, no doubt dislodging some teeth. The target remained standing however, and promptly crouched under Combot's slightly misjudged left high kick before springing up in an amazingly powerful uppercut strike, knocking Combot through the air. Combot remained stunned for only a half-second before righting himself and landing on his feet. Looking up, he saw Heihachi once again try to close the distance between them, but Combot was more than ready. As Heihachi reached striking distance, Combot sprung up and over backwards, catching the target in the head with both feet and landing safely. Target fell again, this time struggling to regain his footing. The anger was gone from his face, replaced by confusion. Combot acknowledged this as understandable; subject's psychology files and background revealed an oversized ego and a considerable winning streak, and subject was widely acknowledged as one of the better, if not the best of, Iron Fist competitors. Not that such status would deter Combot from his objective. Swiftly crossing the gap between the two, Combot searched his memory for a more suitable close-range style, and found it in the shape of a form of wrestling belonging to subject 010, identified as 'King'. A title which Combot hoped to live up to.  
  
When in range, Combot swiftly grabbed Heihachi's left arm and turned sharply, bringing the old man down on his back, hard. Immediately, Combot picked the dazed target from the floor and lifted him up and over backward, cracking the back of his head against the ground. Combot flipped all the way over backward, grabbing the target around the waist, and once again lifted him off the ground and down on his head. Then Combot scrambled to his feet and lifted Heihachi from the floor by the waist, lifting him up to Combot's head height before crashing him back down on his back. The crowd, sensing that the end was near, chanted ever louder as Combot grabbed hold of both of the target's feet and began to spin around, once, twice, about five times, before abruptly letting go of the target. Heihachi was sent flying straight at one of the steel mesh walls surrounding the ring, cracking his spine off one of the support beams. Heiahchi was out before he touched the floor.  
  
The walls descended and Combot raised his arms to the crowd, as he had seen multiple fighters do over the course of the tournament, and the crowd - his crowd - cheered for him. He was the champion. He was the superior model.  
  
Combot heard a soft clapping behind him and turned to see Master Lee stepping toward him, a broad grin on his face.  
  
"You did well, Combot." The Master's praise was welcome but unnecessary. Lee stepped toward Combot, spreading his arms to the side.  
  
Facial expressions and speech were beyond Combot's articulation, but he clapped and stepped toward Master Lee with arms outstretched, imitating him perfectly.  
  
"Now, the world is mine for the taking!" Master Lee's words meant nothing to Combot; he functioned to serve.  
  
Just as Master Lee drew close, several alarms went off inside Combot's cerebro-circuitry.  
  
DANGER: Security Locks Inactive. System Fault. Reboot or risk shorted circuitry.  
  
Unfortunately, Combot was helpless to prevent what came next, as Master Lee was suddenly set as primary target. And Combot moved.  
  
The out-of-control machine grabbed Lee by his collar and dragged him across his knee and slapping him several times on the rear, knocking him down with the last strike. As Lee lay in a heap, Combot performed several taunting gestures compiled from various files, before unclipping a small device from his waist, which extended to become an odd-looking sword as Combot accessed another memory file; subject 012, identified as 'Yoshimitsu'. Drawing the sword back, Combot increased the power supply to the implement as he drew closer to the downed figure of Master Lee, preparing to terminate the target.  
  
As he tried to bring the sword down, he found his arm to be immobile. Running a quick self-diagnostic, he noted that no faults were detected within the limb's circuitry, which left only one reasonable alternative - outside interference.  
  
Glancing back at his arm, he saw several fighters, identified as 'King', 'Paul Phoenix' and 'Steve Fox' attempting to wrestle the weapon from his grip. An exercise in futility - the weapon was attached by powerful electromagnets, which would only deactivate if Combot willed them to do so, or if Combot became inoperable. Neither was likely to happen anytime soon.  
  
As if sensing the futility of their actions, the fighters employed a different tactic. 'Steve Fox' and a new subject, identified as 'Hwoarang' attached themselves to Combot's legs, while 'Paul Phoenix' gestured at someone invisible to Combot. Combot was about to shake the ridiculous men from his limbs when something connected with the back of his neck, severing the wiring and decapitating the CPU. Combot had just enough time to note that the attack was not visible to him before his electronic brain failed him.  
  
Standing over the fallen machine, Paul Phoenix spat on the ground.  
  
"Never trust somethin' that don't drink heavy."  
  
"Your sentiments are quite amusing."  
  
Paul glanced at the green-eyed ninja standing beside him. "I never knew you spoke."  
  
"The same could be said of you." The ninja's reply did not sound in the least bit humorous, though his eyes glinted slightly.  
  
"Right." Paul rolled his eyes. He'd had enough alien talk for one night. He stepped over to Steve and the Korean, who were helping a dazed Lee to his feet.  
  
"Congrats, genius," said Steve, grinning broadly, "you've created a homicidal maniac!"  
  
"Yes." Lee nodded as he stared down at his creation. "Back to the drawing board, I guess."  
  
*******  
  
Author's Note: Jesus, did I write all that? I've lost track of the time again. Sorry for taking a while for this update, but I just finished my prelim exams and schoolwork's kinda eating up my time. Plus, there's Christmas to worry about. Don't worry, I'll have chapter three up in time for the festive season's real start. Next time, it's Kazuya and King. Miss it - Miss nothing! Sayonara,  
  
Microwave Jockey 


	3. 3: Kazuya and King

Author's Note: Where was I again? Ah yes.I'm supposed to be doing.Kazuya. Damn. You'll have to forgive me if this one seems odd, but I'm having a hard time picturing what Kazuya would do after winning the Fourth Tournament. But I shall try regardless. Now, reviewer shoutz.  
  
Spifferfish: Glad you're happy, and your wish is my command.  
  
Jamila: Uhh.you'll have to excuse me if I feel a tad nervous about giving out my phone number to someone I hardly know, and I think I'm a bit young to have a stalker.but thanks for the compliments.  
  
And now.THE CONTINUATION! Mwuhahahahaaaa!  
  
*******  
  
Ending 5.0: Kazuya Mishima  
  
The night was young, but dark clouds seemed to gather, obscuring the moon's glow as two powerful figures clashed in the Hon-Maru of the Mishima Zaibatsu compound. This contest had continued for two hours now, with neither of the fighters seeming fatigued or injured, despite having all but pounded each other into dust. One was undoubtedly younger, and fought with a furious zeal; the other was more.calm, more methodical, and had not yet dropped the sneer on his face since the fight began. That said, such an action was not without reason; I mean, if someone came sprinting up to you, screaming "Once I kill you, it'll all be over!" at the top of their lungs, you'd be laughing too. Particularly if such a person was your ungrateful son.  
  
"Come on, stop being such a coward!" roared the younger one, after having his left jab evaded for seemingly the thousandth time.  
  
"Coward?" the older man's voice was little more than a dark whisper in the wind. "Coward, I hear you say? My dear boy, it is you who is afraid; afraid of yourself.afraid of what you have become."  
  
"NEVER!" the boy's voice seemed fuelled by his anger, increasing in volume as his fury rose. Taking a quick step back, the boy hopped slightly upwards and forwards, kicking once with each leg in midair.  
  
"Too risky, Kazama!" the older taunted, ducking and weaving to the left and remaining crouched. As soon as the boy landed, the older man leapt up, with surprising speed, and landed one solid fist under Kazama's jaw, lifting him up off the ground again with a satisfying of broken teeth.  
  
Kazama landed about ten feet away, the floorboards creaking under the impact. This seemed to cause the boy's injuries to catch up on him, and his breathing became slow and laboured as he struggled to stand, favouring his right leg.  
  
Kazuya knew the end was near. Soon, he would have everything he would ever want, need, and more.  
  
Well.not quite everything.  
  
*Why do you hesitate? Destroy him at once! We will be whole again!* The voice of the Devil resounded in Kazuya's mind, spurring him to action. But he still did not move.  
  
(You really loved her, didn't you?) Another voice, the delicate tones of Angel, brought Kazuya's feelings into the light. In fact, it was surprising that Devil couldn't have guessed the reasoning beforehand.  
  
*That weakling female again? All she ever did was allow you to lose your focus and create the fool who stands before you! Why do you think of her in such a way?!*  
  
(Because love isn't something that the human mind - or yours, for that matter - is capable of understanding. Yet we are all slaves to it.)  
  
"Shut up, both of you." Kazuya was unaware he'd spoken those words aloud.  
  
"DIE!" screamed his seemingly deranged son, who charged Kazuya in a manner far more reckless than anything all the other Mishimas put together had ever done. It was sickening to watch.  
  
Kazuya could only laugh in the face of such spite and idiocy. Carefully picking the right moment, he brought his right fist down in an overhand strike, landing clean on his son's fringe, and followed through with a lunging hook into the boy's ribs. While the young man staggered, his momentum lost, Kazuya took a deep breath and hunched over, revolving slowly on the spot. As his spinning increased in speed, he slowly approached Kazama, whose face paled slightly as comprehension of what was to come hit home. But, as ever, he was just too slow.  
  
As Kazuya's spinning reached its quickest, blue lightning crackled around his right hand, and Kazuya focused his will, his sheer determination, into his arm. Then he struck, leaping upward and outstretching his right arm to its fullest, driving upwards.  
  
The boy had no chance. All he saw was his father straightening and then sheer pain, a sense of weightlessness as he flew through the air, and a brief second of greater agony as his neck connected with the floor, hard. Then nothing but darkness and peace.  
  
Stepping over to the crumpled corpse, Kazuya's thoughts again turned to his deceased lover. How would she view his actions? Despite how well she seemed to know his mind, he doubted she would approve of this, an act which she would see as nothing more than cold-blooded murder. But as far as Kazuya was concerned, such acts were the heart of his life.  
  
Standing tall over the crumpled body before him - it had a name once, now it was nothing more than worthless cadaver - and outstretched his palm, allowing the Devil Gene to override his actions as he used to do so frequently.too frequently. A swirl of mystic energy was drawn from the lifeless corpse and into Kazuya; a tingling sensation ran up and down his spine and he quietly giggled.  
  
"Finally.everything is mine!" With that, Kazuya threw his head back and burst into full-out laughter, laughter that echoed throughout the building and faded slowly as dawn broke.  
  
~One month later~  
  
The Mishima Zaibatsu Main headquarters.a building Kazuya once thought he may never see again. How foolish of him.  
  
Looking down through the window, Kazuya stared at the relentless flow of traffic of Japan's capital city. Just like ants.and they would all serve him as such. The Devil Gene's mysteries had been unlocked at last, thanks to technological support 'offered' by the Zaibatsu competitors. Soon, this miracle, this next stage in human evolution would be bred en masse in disguised factories the world over. Soon, all of mankind would bow before or become one of these titans, these gods, with the ability to heal and harm, create and destroy.  
  
And soon, they would be reunited.  
  
**********  
  
Ending 6.0: King (the Second)  
  
A lone man sat on a wall, overlooking a dock. The birds had taken to their nest for the night, and none of the boats were being worked on or taken out for a ride. But this was none of the man's concern tonight.  
  
The man was holding an animal mask, which appeared to be the head of a jaguar or similar, and was staring at it as if he intended to drop it in the water and wash it from his memory. Several whiskey and liquor bottles lay on the ground beside him, all empty, so it looked as if that wasn't the only thing the guy was likely to forget any time soon.  
  
If you looked past the blank expression and strange lack of distinction on the face's features, you may notice something different in this guy's eyes. A core of ice, and a thick layer of confusion enshrouding it. If the average passer-by just happened to be a rather avid sports fan, and looked between man and mask, they'd probably be able to piece two and two together, and recognise the man as King, a wrestler who, against all odds and bets, triumphed in the Fourth Iron fist Tournament.  
  
One of the theories about his victory was the presence of a new mean streak in the fighter. The main proof for this would be King's entertaining performance, or lack thereof, during all of his matches. Long time Iron Fist followers were used to the King who would show off with his jazziest moves to please the crowd, though knowing that such tactics could be his downfall, and were so on several occasions. They were used to the larger- than-life taunts and, most importantly, the constant shadowing by Armour King, the enigmatic mentor, and long time rival of the previous wearer of the enchanted mask. All of these were missing in the Fourth Tournament.  
  
Instead, King came closer to fighting like a robot than any other non- mechanical competitor to grace the competition to date. His attacking style was quick and decisive, all matches were won with at least ten seconds remaining after the knockout, and he fought alone. There was one exception to this rule; another fighter of roughly larger stature and a background in the Vale Tudo circuit, an organisation similar to that of UFC. That match showed King at his finest ever, but was also acknowledged as being his worst fight ever. Five more competitors were needed to restrain King and prevent him from killing his opponent right then and there.  
  
And even that didn't stop him.  
  
Once the cameras were off and the reporters were away back to whatever broken-down gutter slime paper they work for, King decided to pay a visit to his opponent in hospital. The security guards had been tipped off about a possible kidnapping occurring on the premises, which amounted to be nothing more than a frisky young couple, and it was during this time that King made his move.  
  
Except no moves were made.  
  
The fighter was released from hospital six weeks later, and went back to his old career in the Vale Tudo circuit. But no-one had seen King since he left the hospital that night. Many strange and ridiculous stories sprung up regarding his disappearance, with theories being formed regarding retirement, assassination and alien abduction. What was really happening was a period of soul-searching.  
  
King had discovered that his opponent, Marduk, was a family guy. He was as close to his now elderly parents as King was to the orphans he had sworn to protect in the place of his predecessor, and this reminded King of the enormity of his actions. He couldn't possibly get away clean with a murder in a hospital.and one of Armour King's main lessons was that of trusting your conscience. Without it, you cannot truly be considered as human. Plus, the original King would listen to his conscience. And he would listen to Armour King.  
  
And so, it was a full two years before King ever felt ready to return to the ring. And when he did, it was without the mask that had become so stained with angst and hatred. This was a new beginning for King, and he once again became the icon of the current generation of sportsmen, taking a full twenty years before calling it quits and leaving the work to somebody else. Who he insisted on also being named King.  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: There we go, six down..well, quite a few more to go. I can't decide on which ones to do next, so I'd like some suggestions. You lot feel up to it? Drop me a line to pass along your ideas. Sayonara/Au revoir/G'bye!  
  
Microwave Jockey 


	4. 4: Jin and Hwoarang

Author's Note:  Sorry for the time taken to update; I just started another fic ('Fry In The Pan' over in the TransFormers/Beast Wars section) and I felt like putting both fics on an equal standing, chapter-wise, so I had to devote quite a bit of time to that one.  But I'm back now.  As for this chapter…gah!  Due to volume of votes, I'll have to do Jin and Hwoarang's endings.  excessive burst of swearing and jumping around the room  Typical; the one character I loathe above all others, and one of the cheapest buggers ever.  Well, not THE cheapest; that 'honour' belongs to either form of Law.  But I really don't like Jin or Hwoomerang.  How the hell do you spell that anyway?!  This is what happens when you listen to democracy…but I'm a professional, I can't muck this up…can I?

*************************

Ending Number 7.0:  Jin Kazama (DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE…sorry.)

The dark vestiges of the mind are some of the least understood areas of the human anatomy, with only about ten percent of its mass being attributed to any particular function.  As far as Jin was concerned, the rest of the brain was for dreaming.

He used to love dreaming.  Whether it be visions of his mother, Jun, or hopes for a future as far away from the crowded bustle of Japan as possible; all were welcome to him.  Lately, however, his head had been filled with images of grotesque creatures standing in the shadows, watching his every move.  All were hunchbacked, winged and had glowing eyes that pierced Jin's heart and read his deepest feelings in a single glance.  And all had Jin's own face, sneering back at him like a twisted mirror image.

He had been taught that all dreams meant something in relation to one's own path, and were simply a trace of the latent divining abilities present in all humans, but Jin would never have guessed how accurate such images could be…

~Two Hours Previously~

Jin had finished his warm-up and was heading for the allotted 'arena', a dark and forboding underground entrance to one of the Mishima Zaibatsu's rarely seen laboratories.  He could guess that his opponent, the once-dead Kazuya Mishima – his own father – would already have arrived and would be waiting for him.  He'd done that for all of his matches so far; he apparently believed it to bring him luck.  The old fool.

Rounding another corner of the dark hallway, Jin stopped abruptly.  He thought he'd heard something; a faint scrape of metal on metal.  Experience had taught him long ago not to ignore anything around you, however small that may be.  Slowly turning and keeping his breathing at a carefully controlled volume, Jin glanced around.  He couldn't see anything suspicious, but that did little to reassure him; he could only see two metres in any given direction.

Snorting, Jin turned back the way he came and was about to continue walking when he heard another noise, a soft 'pffwwp' and felt a slight shock on the back of his neck.  Quickly jumping to the side, he raised a hand and brushed away a small dart, loaded with clear liquid.  He realised that his reaction time had slowed, but didn't have time to worry about it; his mystery assailant was heading his way.

As the gunman's footsteps turned the corner, Jin caught a brief, up-close glance of a biohazard mask and body armour, reflecting an eerie blue light emanating from the figure's 'eyes'.  In a rush of adrenaline, Jin identified the features.

Tekken Force!

Reacting as swiftly as he could, Jin stepped away from the wall and lunged into an uppercut, making contact with the trooper's lower-left jaw.  With a sickening 'crunch', the goon fell to the ground, comatose.

Hearing the approaching scuffle of footsteps, Jin readied himself and lashed out with his left foot at the first moving shape he saw, hitting a second trooper clean in the chest and knocking him backward into one of his comrades.  But there were more of them coming, and from different directions.  This was going to be tough.

~Back To The Present~

Jin had done his best, but the Tekken Force were without number, and…well, you try moving after being plugged with fifteen hypodermic needles full of veterinary tranquillisers.  The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was one of the guards saying in Japanese, "Wouldn't it be great if they went down quietly for once?"

Then came the pain.

Jin couldn't recall when the pain had started, or how long it had been tormenting him, but it grew steadily worse over time, eventually reaching a crescendo as oddly-coloured images of Kazuya appeared around him, towering over him, repeating the same words in an endless mantra.

"Give in to the anger…Hate me…Curse me…"

Jin had no idea what the pointy-haired idiot was trying to bring about, though he definitely felt something changing within him.  And there; those strange markings again, spreading like oil over his chest and back…what significance did they represent?  He only recalled them showing once before, at the conclusion of the third tournament, where he should have died.  An omen?

Flailing weakly and silently screaming, Jin collapsed and was on the brink of letting the oncoming rush of darkness consume him.  Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the feelings vanished, replaced by a firm, commanding voice.

"Rise, Jin Kazama!"

Jin snapped awake, taking deep, gulping breaths while his vision span wildly.  The markings were still etched on his flesh, and many of the impact points from the Tekken Force's darts had not yet healed; he hadn't been comatose for too long.  Realising his arms were restricted, he yanked at them several times, the chains holding them in place snapping on the third attempt and sending the young man crashing to the wooden floor.  He retched several times, but the feeling of nausea was unrelated to any particular physical ailment or discomfort.  Glancing up, Jin felt a rush of blind rage sweep through his body as he locked eyes with the smirking figure standing in front of him.  Past events had taken their toll on the other man's appearance so that he didn't quite match the image Jin had been carrying around in his head, but there was no mistaking his father's expression.

"You…If only you were dead…"

Jin struggled to steady himself, the markings on his body fading away as the familiar burst of adrenaline entered his system.

"Once I kill you, it'll all be over!"

Without a second thought, Jin threw himself into combat.  His instructor from Brisbane always told him to take a calm, steady hand into a fight; karate was not the fury of the berserker, it was the art of the knight, so to speak.  But Jin wasn't really in the mood for meditating at the moment.

Jin didn't think about what he was doing.  He wasn't really even controlling himself.  He felt like an outsider, watching the fight from third-person as two others battled it out.  He wasn't even feeling the injuries his blind charge was causing him to sustain.  All he was paying attention to was his opponent; his movements, his attitude, his condition.  Though Kazuya was never truly caught off-guard – he seemed to expect everything – but he did seem to have trouble with Jin's frenzy, taking more punishment than Jin was expecting him to.

In that instant, Jin saw his chance.  Kazuya, after backing off a step to avoid a kick, took a right-handed swing, overbalancing in the process.  Jin quickly stepped around to his right, stopping straight behind his dizzied father.  While Kazuya fought to stop himself falling over, Jin drew his right hand back, taking a deep breath and concentrating as much as he could.  This was an all-or-nothing gamble.  Just as Kazuya spun around, already raising his left arm for a punch, Jin lunged in, delivering his punch with inhuman force behind it.  Kazuya was knocked off his feet, winded, and soared through the air for a good ten feet before connecting with the floor, chest heaving once before stopping completely.

Jin's heart was still pounding.  The marks had returned while he fought, and his vision fluctuated frequently, sending flashes of vibrant colour through his mind.  Another set of footsteps approached.  Jin already knew who they belonged to.

"What a pathetic wretch – you worthless coward!"

The gravely tones of Jin's grandfather, Heihachi Mishima, were about as welcome as a stack of ice-cubes in Antartica.

"I will make your power mine…"

The old man lowered into his usual battle stance, something even older than Heihachi himself.  Well, possibly.

"Time to die, boy!"

Jin didn't know what forced him to say his next words, but whatever it was, it was something to fear.

"You think an old fool like you can stop me?  You are bluffing, mortal!"

Heihachi's expression at those words mirrored Jin's thoughts on this; namely, _"What The Hell?"_

Jin was completely helpless as to what came next.  He felt himself advance on Heihachi steadily, blocking each of the old man's attacks with seemingly no effort and delivering counterpunches that would fell a tree.  The elder Mishima had no chance of success, but he held on against the onslaught for ten minutes.  At least that was admirable.

Picking up Heihachi's broken body by the scruff of his gi robe, Jin felt an odd sense of power flow through his veins.  The black wings once again emerged from his back, not hurting as they had the last time.  Raising a fist for the final blow, revelling in the puny creature's fear, Jin saw something out of the corner of his eye.  Turning, he came face to face with…

His mother…

Jin gasped, blinking quickly, but the vision disappeared.  At the same time, a veil seemed to have been lifted from his mind, and control of his actions was restored to him.  Lowering his head, he smiled grimly to himself.  The vision's message was clear; not the way mother would have wanted this situation dealt with at all.  He dropped the broken figure and rose to his feet, glancing over at where he had seen his mother again.  A gold statue of Buddha looked back at him.

"Thank my mother…"

He glanced down at Heihachi.

"…Jun Kazama."

And with that, Jin turned and stretched his wings, leaping up through the wooden roof of the building and into the dawn light, into a new future.  He had nowhere to go and no parents left, but tomorrow had never looked brighter.

************************

Ending Number 8.0 – Hwoarang

There's only so much one can do with riches.  Though the luxuries one can afford through these means can certainly make the life of a warrior more bearable, none of them should be the warrior's true concern, as this would result in dishonour creeping into one's life like cancer, slowly infecting everything it contacts until it destroys the warrior's soul.

Master Baek had made that lesson clear to Hwoarang a long time ago, and it was for this reason alone that he decided to sell off the Mishima Zaibatsu as soon as he earned its leadership.  It's not like he was doing anyone any harm; the Zaibatsu's pollution problems and animal testing programs would hardly be missed.  Besides, that Abel guy freaked Hwoarang out.  Why would someone actually want to wear red tinted glasses?  A wannabe Dr. Evil, evidently.

There was one other real significant reason for Hwoarang's sale of the Zaibatsu and subsequent departure.  Another reason relating to the obscure concept known as 'honour.'  Can't live with it, can't live without it.  Hwoarang had been waiting for a chance for too long, and he'd finally decided to take matters into his own hands, regarding his little feud with the Kazama kid.

The Kazama kid.  Hwoarang never realised when he first started calling his current rival by that name.  It seemed daft, as they were both more or less the same age, but it made Hwoarang feel good, as if each time he said it he was secretly getting one over on the pointy-haired bastard.  And then there was this new 'traditional karate' stuff the fool had been doing recently; sitting around meditating whenever he wasn't in a fight, lighting incense sticks and going for walks in forests.  Hwoarang had taken some pride in the small act of following the ponce on one of those walks and secretly taking a photo of him lying against a tree, then messing around with it in Photoshop so that it looked like a good old bit of tree-huggin', before posting it on a variety of poplar internet message boards.  Now who says new technology is a bad thing, huh?

However, now was not the time for minor pranks and behind-the-back jokes.  No, as Hwoarang reminded himself, while in the taxi taking him to an unused car park in one of the lesser-known parts of Paris.  Now was the time for serious action.

It had taken him some time, but he'd finally tracked down Jin to Paris, with help from various internet sites again.  It wasn't too difficult once he'd figured out where to look, as the various Government agencies, which like to keep track of the Tekken Force's movements, had recorded a large number of Heihachi's ex-private troopers heading into various locations around Europe, and zeroing in around France's capital.  Such presence would mean that this showdown would have to be quick, so as not to alert the armed nutcases; Hwoarang may not like Jin, but the thought of handing him over to the Tekken Force was repugnant to the extreme.

The taxi finally came to a stop.  Hwoarang handed over a bunch of notes to the driver and stepped out without waiting for his change, quickly jogging down the steps into the brightly-lit underground area.  He hadn't realised how nervous he was feeling until now; the palms of his hands were clammy and his breathing came in short, sharp bursts.  _Get a grip, man!_

As soon as he reached the bottom of the steps, he saw him.  The other man was waiting at the opposite end of the car park, wearing the same blue hooded tracksuit he'd been wearing through the entire tournament, the hood raised and being held up by the hair underneath.  He still wore the same style of gloves too; as far as anyone could say, Kazama practically slept with them on.

Hwoarang continued to approach, a smile flickering across his face.  Now, we'll see how tough this guy really is…

"You're finally here."  He raised his voice unnecessarily; he thought it made the whole deal more dramatic.

"So…" Jin only just raised his eyes from the ground then.  "What do you want?"  His accent made the words sound almost Russian.  Odd.

"You can't figure that out?  I never got the chance to fight you at the tournament."  Hwoarang continued to walk, stopping only when he was slightly behind Kazama.  "I'll take you on, right here, right now."

Jin was silent for a moment.  "There's no reason to fight."

_Oh no you don't._  "You ain't got one?"  Hwoarang spun on the spot.  "Well, I do!"

Jin shook his head almost sadly.  "If that's what you wish…"

"You'd better believe it, buddy."  Hwoarang took a step back and transferred into a normal fighting stance, hopping slightly between each foot.

Jin didn't say a word as he turned slowly and held both arms out in front of himself, taking slow, deep breaths.

Hwoarang stared blankly for a moment before blinking once, shaking his head, and jumping into the fray.

Jin's new style of fighting didn't really make Hwoarang very happy.  He rarely tried any direct offensive manouvers, simply blocking everything that Hwoarang threw his way.  And what little was used for offensive purposes was easily dodged and not very flashy.  If this had been a proper arena fight, the crowd would have already been throwing things.

"C'mon, what are you waiting for?  You're better than this!"  Usually, Hwoarang reserved such phrases for taunts, but he was generally let down at his opponent's lacklustre performance right now.

But ask, and you shall receive.

Jin suddenly turned up the heat with a variety of quick and high kicks, some of which were virtually impossible to dodge.  Hwoarang wasn't ready for them, but he adapted quickly, and saw an opening.  It seemed that Jin's new methods were focused on a single value, and by changing to an offensive pattern, he had left his defence open.  Hwoarang flicked out with a leg and caught Jin behind the hell, sending him collapsing to the floor, and followed through with an axe-kick, though it was dodged.  Jin rolled to the side and leapt up, spinning around for a kick, but was again caught by Hwoarang's lightning feet in midair, knocking him backward into a concrete pillar, which cracked under the pressure.  Dazed, Kazama struggled to stand, but Hwoarang wasn't about to let him get his bearings.  Taking a run-up, Hwoarang used the hunched-over Jin as a springboard, propelling him up at the pillar, from which he rebounded and landed wit hone solid foot coming down on Jin's neck, slamming him headfirst into the floor as Hwoarang landed and rolled away.

Standing again, Hwoarang stepped over to the dizzy Kazama, whose forehead was now bleeding from a small cut, almost dead centre.  Hwoarang would have finished him off then and there…

_Ch-chkk!_

But sometimes, circumstances outside your control get in the way.

"SERGEANT!"

Hwoarang briefly closed his eyes and muttered 'damn' before turning on his heel to face his former commanding officer from the Korean military.  He was always a by-the-book kinda guy, and Hwoarang only ever agreed to do something if he could do it his way, so there was quite a deal of enmity between the two.

"Desertion is an offence punishable by court martial!"  The officer folded his arms behind his back and sneered as he spoke.  He was enjoying every minute of this.  "Give yourself up, soldier!"

Hwoarang just sighed.  He really didn't want to go back to the military, and there were five stupid goons pointing rifles at him.  Can a guy's day get any worse?

Then he noticed Jin standing up and tapping one of the troopers on the shoulder.  "Hey…"

The trooper turned around; about one of the worst mistakes he ever made.

Quick as a flash, Jin sent a right uppercut straight into the guy's chin, spinning him away through the air.  Without pausing, he spun his head around and thrust his right foot out, catching another guy clean in the chest.  Jin turned back to face Hwoarang, raising one eyebrow and returning to a passive stance.  The message was clear; _now it's your turn._

Hwoarang whistled appreciatively, before launching into motion.  The guards were busy staring in awe and didn't notice him move until the first of their number cried in surprise and pain.  Leaping at the trooper in front of him, Hwoarang used his chest as a spring -board, then rebounded onto another guard, doing the same, then spun around and kicked the last guard in the jaw while in midair.  Landing softly, Hwoarang blew some imaginary dust from his shoulder; he'd seen guys do that in action movies, and it always looked cool.

The officer was the first to return from the silence.  "FIRE!"

Jin and Hwoarang quickly dived behind the nearest car as machine-gun fire tore up the asphalt and walls, ricocheting from the vehicles with an ear splitting 'ping.'  Jin was silent, contemplating; almost as if he thought about sprinting back out there and right into the line of fire.  Wacko.

"Kazama!"  Hwoarang decided to break the silence; he felt like gloating.  "Remember, I kicked your ass back there."

Hwoarang looked at the silent youth next to him.  "Hey, you listenin'?"

Jin blinked twice, coming out of his stupor, and turned to Hwoarang.

"I'll give you a chance to even the score at the next tournament.  And hey," he smirked, "you'd better show up!"

Jin stared blankly for a moment, before smiling as well.

~One Month Later~

Hwoarang had finally managed to escape from the Korean pursuit party by settling down in America, or more accurately, Chicago.  He'd always like the big cities, and he held a special place in his heart for Chicago; possibly something to do with all those old gangster movies from the Al Pacino era.  He'd had to register for his current abode using the fake name of Kit Yun, but he made certain that his tournament contacts knew where he was; it just wouldn't do to miss his rematch when it finally came, would it?

**********************************

Author's Note:  Thank Christ, it's finally over.  At least I can say I got the hard ones out of the way quickly.  I'll be needing some more votes for who comes next; so far I've had one vote each for Heihachi, Bryan Fury and Christie Montiero.  Unfortunately, I won't be able to work on this during Christmas as I'll be away at a relative's house, but I'll go back to work ASAP afterward.  And finally…Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Microwave Jockey


	5. 5: Christie and Bryan

Author's Note:  Yes, I'm back again, my dears!  Please accept, as ever, my humble apologies for the time taken to update; I have no excuse this time, besides being intolerably lazy.  Based on the 'votes' received, I should definitely give Christie Montiero's ending the treatment here.  My apologies once more if it's not what you're expecting, but it's not like the ending itself gives you a lot to base your thoughts on, does it?  As for my second applicant…well, I only received one vote each for Heihachi and Bryan Fury, so I've opted for the zombie copper on account of my thinking that he's so much cooler than that diaper-wearing old sod.  And now, reviewers, reveal yourselves to mine eyes!

 PerfectlyDemon:  The ideas for another series once this 'un is finito are welcome, particularly the 'even further down the line' one, but please…no Nina/Anna bashing.  I love them both.  But for very different reasons.  Neither could function properly without the other.  And 'hun'?  Eh?

Baccus Cremaeus:  Well, thank you.  AND I HOPE YOU HAD A HAPPY NEW YEAR TOO! 

Spifferfish:  Well, it's not my hating their individual plotlines that makes me loathe writing about Hwoomerang and Jinnykins…I don't like the Korean Kickster because he's so darn cheap and his outfits suck, and I hate Jin because up until T4 he was basically an inferior juvenile Kazuya, and in T4, though the new fighting style is at least original, it's not very effective.  Plus, all the female gamers on the planet seem to adore these two just because they're attractive. (A generalisation, perhaps, but no-one has yet proven me wrong)  And DON'T SAY I only like Nina because she's attractive…that's certainly part of it, but you've also got the intriguing storyline and the ability to kick people in the groin really hard, a source of endless amusement.

Boy, that was a long rant, eh?  And now…the next chapter…the final frontier…these are the voyages of a teenager's mind…to BOLDLY GO WHERE NO ACCOUNTANT HAS GONE BEFORE!  (_Oh, ha-ha.  You'll be fired by tomorrow. – Editor_)

********************************************

Ending Number 9.0:  Christie Montiero

There are some things in life that only make sense after you've done them.  For Christie, entering the so-called 'King Of Iron Tournament 4' would definitely qualify as one of those moments.  She'd read Eddy's farewell note thoroughly – not that there had been much to it – and then immediately headed off to Japan.  Why?  Did she honestly expect to find Eddy on his trail of revenge?  Probably not.  He'd never said who had killed his father – in truth, he might not have known 'til recently – and yet, there was definitely something in his attitude the last time Christie had seen him; a sense of urgency, purpose, and what could have been regret.  Perhaps he thought this would not be a journey he was likely to return from.  Which, as it turned out, was a fairly accurate prediction.

~Away In Tokyo, At The Closure Of The 4th Tournament~

The paramedics had already been standing by on the scene to wheel away the defeated finalist, which to everyone's surprise was the self-proclaimed 'reigning champ', Heihachi Mishima.  Or was that Hihiechi?  Heyachi?  Whatever, the point was, he lost, and I won.  Me.  Christie.  I should be overjoyed, both for finally accomplishing something that people may remember me for – a personal goal since the age of seven – and, of course, ridding the world (at least temporarily) of the hideous sight that is an eighty-something balding Japanese guy in a g-string.  I mean, seriously, ewwww!  What kinda sick childhood problems did that weirdo have?!

But even with all that in mind, Christie felt empty inside.  Y'know, the way you always feel when you listen to a David Gray song.  She hadn't seen a single glimpse of Eddy throughout the entire tournament, and hadn't received any phone calls, emails or any other forms of contact from him since he'd vanished without trace one short week after she graduated.  It wasn't like she wanted to depend on his chaperoning for the rest of her life, but…well…she needed some support right now, that was for certain.  Plus, though she had yet to admit to this out loud to anyone, not even the Chinese girl she'd become good friends with, she was kind of attracted to him.  But not when he wore that daft Afro wig and the shades, and the rest of that 70s get-up.  _That_ was a bit much.

Abruptly, she realised she'd been standing stock-still in the middle of the arena, with a couple hundred thousand people cheering for her, and hadn't moved one bit.  Weakly, she tried to wave and smile, but it wouldn't come.  Then, of course, came the press.

"Christie, congratulations on your victory!"

"Umm, thanks."

"How are you feeling?"

"Whatever…good, I suppose."

"Is there anyone you'd like to share this moment with?"

Well, at least that question I have a proper answer for… 

Christie's wandering mind was cut short when she noticed a familiar face in the crowd, standing out as an African-American in a sea of Asian faces, and significantly taller than anyone around.  And there was no mistaking that smile.

"EDDY!"

Under normal circumstances, Christie would probably have blushed and slipped quietly away for such a public display, but right now she didn't notice; all her attention was focused on her once-missing friend and mentor.  Leaping down from the ring, Christie barged her way through all the assorted teenagers and other sports fans that crowded the arena, not bothering to watch where she was going until Eddy was right in front of her.  Oblivious to the press cameras following her, she literally threw herself on him, bursting into tears immediately, mumbling his name over and over as the flashbulbs lit the night sky…

~One Month Later, In Brazil~

Eddy's condition had improved fairly steadily once Christie had managed to get him back home.  Though he refused to tell the hospital staff how his injuries were received, he spilt the beans to Christie at the first opportunity he got.

It turned out that his father had been killed under the orders of one Kazuya Mishima, another competitor from the fourth tournament and son of the geriatric finalist Christie had had the…erm…'pleasure' of facing.  It was still unclear what Eddy's father had done to warrant his demise, though whatever it was, it was somehow related to Kazuya's own rise to power within the Mishima Zaibatsu, Heihachi's company, after the 2nd King Of Iron Fist Tournament.  The name 'Boskonovitch' and something called 'Jack' were often associated with the case as well.  Eddy had met up with a Hong Kong detective at the 4th tournament, someone he'd known from the previous tournament, and had managed to persuade the guy to help get to the bottom of the mystery, if that ever happened.  Sadly, Eddy's reunion with his 3rd tournament chums was cut short by the Tekken Force militia, who ambushed Eddy in his hotel room one night and left a very clear message; stay out of our business or there'll be more where that came from.  Eddy, with his arm broken, had no choice but to drop out of the tournament at the last minute, though he escaped from the local infirmary to watch the tournament's final in person…and was quite shocked to see his protégé up in the ring, dishing out a beating.

Christie had committed herself to watch over Eddy as he recovered fully, and her heart had already made up its mind to stay as close to him as possible when he set off again, no matter where his journey may take him.  She owed him that much, at least.  Plus, she owned all of the Zaibatsu's fortune now – and she couldn't possibly spend _all _of that on CDs!

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Ending Number 10.0:  Bryan Fury

There's only one life for the average man, and for some, that's just not enough time.  It had certainly seemed that way to Bryan, at least in his first life.  Wanting to get the most out of his time while it was available, Bryan joined the police and eventually graduated into the SWAT division, a job he relished not for the challenge, but for the sheer adrenaline of facing down a full squad of perps, all spitting machine-gun fire every which way, your comrades falling around you…Bryan never like to think of himself as sadistic, but other people certainly couldn't find a better way to describe his actions.  Despite this, he quickly rose through the ranks, earning the responsibility to command a full squad, who invariably came out of battle scarred and seriously hurting, if they came out at all, while Bryan was as healthy as ever.

Unfortunately, not even all this could stem Bryan's need for excitement, and he decided to try something different; illegal operations right under the cop's noses.  It worked well enough for some time – he set up deals, he got the merchandise to be sold off later, then he called in the backup and his 'partners' were in jail before sundown.  But this all came to an end one day when a lone oriental detective stumbled across the scene and reported back to HQ, but not before planting three 9mm FMJ rounds in Bryan's chest.  Such an attack should have killed him…Later on, he would say it did.

~Many years later, At The Conclusion Of The 4th Tournament~

Heiahchi's near-lifeless body once again collided with the cage-like wall surrounding the ring as his opponent advanced.  He'd seen this zombified nutcase before, but he was different this time.  Previously a being of cold logic, the cyborg's actions now stemmed from a seething hatred for everything that lived and breathed, and had proven to be unstoppable throughout the entire tournament.  Indeed, Heihachi's pet, the grizzly bear named Kuma, was still at the veterinarian following Bryan's rather callous post-match actions, that being dropping the 800-lb bear off the top of a skyscraper, from Heihachi's penthouse suite level.  Revolting, but the machine had done far worse.

Heiahchi was starting to regret ever having stepped in the ring with this psycho when the machine stepped over to his battered body and lifted him up by the throat, a sneer of pure malice growing on his – or rather, _it's _– face.  Pushing back, the cyborg slammed the back of Heiahchi's head off of one of the steel support beams on the wall, rattling it almost out of its foundations.  Heihachi coughed blood, but was still conscious.  Unfortunate for him, as Bryan quickly punched him left-handed in the gut, actually piercing the skin with the sheer pressure, before swinging the elderly warrior overhead.  Heihachi landed in a heap and stopped moving.  The winning bell was sounded, though no-one raised Bryan's hand; not even a $10,000 bonus could convince the announcer to go anywhere near the sociopathic killing machine.  Not that he would have needed to; Bryan stumbled off immediately after the match ended, clutching his gut.

In his head, Bryan knew he didn't have long left.  In fact, he'd known it for a long time, ever since his creator, Dr. Abel, had abandoned him and gone to work at the Mishima Zaibatsu.  Without Abel's maintenance and upgrades, Bryan's body would rapidly age and degenerate until there was nothing left but the odd few servomotors and memory chips.  The acceptance of these facts created a steely determination within Bryan, and he knew that his only available chance was to win the 4th Tournament and take over the Zaibatsu, which would allow him to command Abel to keep him alive.

Finally slumping into the infirmary, Bryan found the man he was looking for, a short, bald guy with angular red glasses and a lab coat: Dr. Abel, looking no different from usual.

Hearing the half-mech's trudging footsteps, Abel turned around and quickly backed off a couple steps, staring in utter disbelief.

"You're still alive?!" was all the doctor could think of to say.

Ever since starting out in the tournament, Bryan's vocal functions had become less and less efficient, to the point where he knew about ten English words in total.  Thankfully, he was programmed using the basic concept that actions speak louder than words.  Suddenly bursting forward, he reared back with one arm and grabbed Abel by the scruff of the neck, twisting around and throwing him sharply through the nearest wall.  Then, his condition critical, Bryan fell to the ground, smoke twisting out of his nostrils.  He was certain that, before blacking out, he saw odd-looking feet approaching…

~Two Weeks Later, In A Laboratory (Undisclosed Location)~

Bryan's mind came back online and registered the bright lights shining straight onto his face, dazzling his eyes.

"Ah, you're finally awake…"

Turning at the sound of a voice – a worn-out Russian voice – Bryan found himself looking at a very old man in a lab coat with wire-framed glasses.  The words were unrecognised, but the face triggered a search on Bryan's memory files, matching with a previous target, one Dr. Boskonovitch, to be captured alive.  That objective however, was history.

Boskonovitch continued to talk, nothing of which registered with Bryan until he turned his head down at the foot of the bad Bryan was propped up on.  Looking at his feet, Bryan saw another familiar being, a mechanical warrior decorated in the same way as a form of insect.  Memory files matched this as Yoshimitsu, leader of the 'Manji Party'.

Returning his attention to the doctor, Bryan clearly heard the word 'life'.  That, at least, he recognised.  Judging by body language, whatever the doctor was trying to express was a positive development for Bryan, so when the doctor trailed off on a questioning note, Bryan merely nodded and laid back as the doctor pierced his skin with a small object, and Bryan quickly blacked out again.

~Just Over A Year Later, San Diego~

The Tekken Force had long since set up local branches in all of the major cities of the world – or, at least, those which contained a large branch of the Mishima Zaibatsu.  The departments in American areas only really saw any action if they were needed abroad, but were kept at the ready regardless.  So when a security breach was reported at the large West Centurion Towers department, the Force boys were dispatched ASAP.  Arriving on the scene, they saw nothing wrong, except that the main door of the building was missing.  One of the troopers aimed carefully and fired a smoke grenade from a small launcher, the projectile landing just inside the entrance and covering the scene in billowing fog within a few seconds.

Then a dark figure emerged from the clouds of artificial smoke.  The troopers opened fire, with army-issue M-16 assault rifles and MP5 submachine guns.  Yet the being – who resembled nothing the troopers could think of – plodded on relentlessly, barely flinching as literally hundreds of bullets tore into his seemingly artificial flesh.

The being approached the nearest trooper and punched him once, right on the nose.  The man's head snapped back, almost off the shoulders, and he crumpled immediately.  The next soldier drew a knife and stabbed the creature.  The creature snapped the knife with one miniature karate-chop and tore the man's jugular vein out with his bare hand.  The trooper fell on his face, gargling softly.

It only took about five minutes for the other ten men on the scene to be eliminated in the same fashion.  Following that, the being known as Yoshimitsu emerged from the smoky entrance to the building, hefting a large sack of stolen cash, and hefted it into the helicopter that arrived on the scene unnervingly quickly.  The other being followed, still showing no signs of injury.

Snake Eye was reborn again, and nothing would stand in his way this time.

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Author's Note:  And another two down.  Again, I want you guys and gals to tell me who or what to do next, and if you have an idea for another story, gimme it!  I need all the help I can get!  And, on that note, I'd like to say goodnight to one and all.  G'bye!

Microwave Jockey


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